Mail-Order Miranda (Brides of Beckham)

by Margery Scott

  “I’ve helped many women find husbands,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure I can help you, too. But first, tell me why you’ve decided to be a mail-order bride.”

  Miranda’s throat tightened and tears stung her eyes. Unable to hold them back, she lowered her head and dug into her reticule for a handkerchief.

  Elizabeth got up and came to sit beside her. She didn’t speak, but waited until Miranda was finished crying. Finally, Miranda took in a shuddery breath and sniffled back the last of her tears.

  “I’ve worked for four years for the Tollivers over on Beacon Place,” she began. “This morning, a boy came to the door to tell me my sister was having her baby and that she needed me. I shouldn’t have left without asking permission, but she’s the only family I have ... had. I had to go to her. But I was too late. She died before I got there.”

  Elizabeth wrapped an arm around Miranda’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

  “Thank you.”

  “What happened then?”

  “After I arranged for her funeral, I went back to the house, and Mrs. Tolliver told me she couldn’t keep me on. So I have no way to earn a living now. I have nothing left here, so when I saw the advertisement, I thought it would be a good idea to go somewhere else, start over ...”

  “I see,” Elizabeth said. “You do realize it can take some time to find the right man and to arrange for travel west.”

  “How long?”

  “It could take two or three months.”

  Miranda sighed. She hadn’t thought of how she’d survive until she left Beckham. “I do have some savings, but I have to pay for Beth’s funeral. I’ve looked in the newspaper for another position but I couldn’t find anything. I need to marry sooner because my money won’t last months.”

  “I assume the Tollivers will ask you to leave,” Elizabeth said. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  Miranda shook her head. “Mrs. Tolliver already made me leave,” she said.

  “Then you shall stay here.”

  “I couldn’t impose—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Elizabeth said. “I have an empty room you’re welcome to use. And I’ll enjoy having the company.”

  “As I said, I don’t have much money, but I’ll gladly pay—”

  Elizabeth brushed the offer aside. “If you have enough money for your personal needs, that’s all that matters.”

  “I do.”

  “Good,” Elizabeth said, patting Miranda’s hand. “Now, let’s find you a husband, preferably one who’s in a hurry for a bride.”

  Getting up, she crossed to her desk and began to shuffle papers. “Can you cook?”

  “I used to be a really good cook, but I haven’t cooked much since I started working at the Tollivers’.

  “What did you do there?”

  “I was one of the downstairs maids there, so I cleaned mostly.”

  “But you know how to cook?”

  “My mother taught me to cook when I was growing up. Said I’d need to be a good cook to land a man since I’m not pretty and I’m too plump for any decent man to want me.”

  “Your mother told you that?”

  Miranda nodded. “She said she was telling me for my own good.”

  “Then let me tell you something,” Elizabeth said. “Your mother was wrong. You are very pretty. Your hair is a lovely shade, and you’re not plump at all.”

  Miranda felt her cheeks reddening. Elizabeth was just being kind, that was all. Her sister was the pretty one, the one who had suitors calling on her night and day. A lump formed in her throat, making it hard to contradict Elizabeth. And it was nice of her to try to make her feel better.

  Just then, Bernard came in carrying a tray. He set them on the table in front of the sofa and left without a word.

  Elizabeth dug a piece of paper out of the pile on her desk. “Do you like children?” she asked.

  Miranda loved children, but she’d given up even thinking about ever having a family of her own. After all, she’d have to be married, and since she’d never even had a suitor, marriage wasn’t in her future. “I do. Very much.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “How do you feel about going to Texas?”

  Miranda had read about Texas, about the war with Mexico and about the Texas Rangers, but she knew little else other than it was far away. “That would be fine.”

  “Then I think I’ve found the right husband for you. His name is John Weaver and he lives in Sapphire Springs, Texas,” Elizabeth said, getting up and joining her on the sofa. “I’ll pour the tea while you read his letter.”

  Miranda’s fingers trembled when she took the letter from Elizabeth.

  Dear Miss Miller,

  My name is John Weaver, and I live in Sapphire Springs, Texas. I’m looking for a woman who’s willing to marry me and to help me raise my twin five-year-old girls.

  I’m 28 years old, about 6’ tall and weigh about 200 pounds. I have black hair and blue eyes and I’m not the worst looking man in town, so I guess that’s something. I own a diner in town and have a small house nearby.

  My wife died a few months back and since then, my aunt has been helping out with the girls so I can keep the diner going, but she’s not a young woman and it’s not going well. I think taking care of two little girls is too much for her. They need a mother who’s capable of teaching the girls the things they need to know and I hope will eventually love them as much as I do.

  I’m not particular about looks, but I would like a woman who’s between 20 and 25 and who can cook, since I’d really like somebody else to fix my meals when I get home from cooking at the diner all day.

  If you know of a woman who’s willing to work hard in exchange for a husband who’ll support her, and a family who’ll treat her well, I look forward to hearing from you.

  John Weaver

  “What do you think?” Elizabeth asked, setting the tea in front of Miranda.

  What did she think? Could she really do this? “Yes. I’ll go to Texas,” she said before she could change her mind. “What happens now?”

  Elizabeth got up and went back to her desk. She took a piece of white paper out of a drawer and put it on top along with a pen, a bottle of ink and blotting paper. “I have a few things to take care of,” she said. “Why don’t you write a letter to Mr. Weaver and tell him about yourself while you finish your tea? I’ll be back in a little while.”

  Elizabeth left the room and Miranda sat at the desk, her mind in a whirl. What could she say about herself to make a man – a stranger – want to make her his wife? There was no point in lying, she decided, since he’d know the truth as soon as he saw her. She began to write.

  Dear Mr. Weaver,

  My name is Miranda Lowe and I live in Beckham, Massachusetts.

  I’ve been working for a wealthy family for the past few years, so I’m used to hard work. I used to be a good cook. I haven’t done much cooking lately, but I don’t think it would take long to come back to me. I do know how to clean, do laundry, and sew so looking after a home wouldn’t be hard for me.

  I’m twenty-two years old, and healthy. I have brownish-red hair that curls a lot when it’s hot outside, and green eyes. I do want to be honest. I’m not pretty, so I’m glad you said looks aren’t important. Also, I’m not thin, so if having a slim bride matters to you, I’m not the woman for you.

  I love children and had given up the thought of having children of my own so I’d be thrilled to help you raise your girls as well as make your life as pleasant and easy as possible.

  If you think I might be the kind of woman you’re looking for, I’d be happy to come to Texas and marry you.

  Sincerely,

  Miranda Lowe

  Miranda studied the words she’d written. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. This was a drastic step that would change her life forever. She was terrified, but at the same time, a small flutter of excitement rushed through her.

  She closed the bottle of ink and set it and the pen aside.
She was just finishing her tea when Elizabeth came back. “Here it is,” she said. “Do you want to read it first?”

  “Your letter is between you and Mr. Weaver,” Elizabeth replied, opening a drawer and taking out an envelope. “I’ll mail it for you immediately. You should get a reply in about three weeks or so.”

  Miranda got up and crossed to the sofa where she’d left her reticule. “Thank you for everything, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be the perfect bride for Mr. Weaver. Now, why don’t you go and get your things and come back? In the meantime, I’ll ask Bernard to get a room ready for you.”

  Miranda glanced down at the worn carpetbag, shame filling her. At her age, she should have a home of her own and a family, or at least have more than two dresses and a few books to her name. “This is all I have.”

  “Oh, I see. Then why don’t we have some lunch and get to know each other while Bernard takes your bag upstairs.”

  Chapter Three

  John Weaver cast a quick glance at the clock on the shelf above the worktable in the diner’s kitchen . Almost closing time, thank goodness.

  The diner had been busier than usual all day. Probably the weather, he figured. The temperature had been hovering around ninety degrees for the last week, and folks had likely decided it was just too hot to cook. So those that could afford it had come to the diner to eat their meals. It was good for John’s pocketbook, but between the heat, the lack of sleep because of the heat in the house at night, and making sure he spent time with the girls in the evenings after he closed up, he was exhausted.

  The bell above the door door jangled. John sighed. He’d have to tell the latest customer that he was closing when a voice called out across the diner. “Hey, John. What’s the special tonight?”

  Pete Fallon, John’s best friend, was sliding into a chair at an empty table when John opened the door separating the kitchen from the main dining room.

  A smile creased John’s face. “I was just about to close up.”

  Pete took off his hat and set it on the chair beside him. “I know, that’s why I waited until now. The diner was too crowded earlier. Am I too late to get anything to eat?”

  “I can rustle you up some fried chicken, mashed potatoes and beans. Cherry pie for dessert. Will that do?”

  “It’ll have to. I’m starved. I just hope it’s better than last night’s steak,” Pete teased.

  John approached the table with silverware and a napkin. “Didn’t kill you, did it?”

  “I was lucky.”

  John and Pete had been friends since Pete had hit him in the head with a shovel when they were four years old. Once the blood had been cleaned up, the two boys had gotten over whatever they’d been fighting about and their friendship had begun, a friendship that was even more important to John now that Nancy was gone.

  Pete had been there to get him through his darkest days right after Nancy died, and Pete’s mother had helped him out with his five-year-old twin girls as much as she could, considering she was getting on in years.

  John had tried to hire a housekeeper, and when that didn’t work out, he’d looked for someone to help him in the diner so he could take care of the girls. Not one person met his requirements.

  It was then his aunt had offered to take care of the girls until he could figure out what to do.

  Aunt Ruth had lived alone as far back as John could remember, but she’d barely spent any time in John’s house, either before or after Nancy died.

  The morning after she’d offered to help with the girls, she’d arrived full of spit and vinegar, declaring the house unfit for humans to live in and the twins out of control. She’d taken charge that day, and if the girls weren’t devastated enough by losing their mother, they were even more miserable after Aunt Ruth arrived. They’d grown more unhappy by the day until he started to wonder if they’d ever recover.

  His chest still tightened when he thought about the tears at the breakfast table just that morning. Ellie had climbed into his lap and put one small hand on each of his cheeks, her tear-stained face only a few inches from his, and begged him to stay home with them.

  Hope, on the other hand, had glared at him through her tears, not saying a word.

  He couldn’t stay home with them every day, but they didn’t understand that.

  He’d been at his wits’ end when Pete had suggested he send away for a mail-order bride. He wouldn’t even consider it at first. He’d loved Nancy since the minute he’d seen her at a church social. They’d married and had the girls less than a year later. His life had been perfect.

  And then, suddenly, she was gone. And he was left alone to care for two little girls and run a business.

  “Any news yet?” Pete asked when John brought him a plate piled high with potatoes, chicken and corn.

  John shook his head. “Maybe there isn’t a woman out there who’s willing to take on a ready-made family.”

  “My cousin out Lubbock way managed to find one, and he’s got five kids.”

  “I hope you’re right,” John said with a sigh. “Things can’t go on the way they are. The girls used to be normal little girls, chattering all the time, laughing ...”

  “They had a mother then,” Pete pointed out. “You think they’re going to be the same now?”

  John shook his head. “Of course not. I expect them to still miss their mother, but it’s been almost a year now. They should be at least getting back to their old selves instead of getting more and more miserable. Trouble is, I’m pretty sure it’s my aunt’s doing. She’s so strict with them, but I can’t complain. It’s her way and she did raise her own kids, so maybe she’s right. I just want to see them smile again, that’s all.”

  The bell over the door jingled as the last customer left, giving John a wave. John went to the door, locked it and turned the sign hanging on the door to read “Closed.”

  He still had a mountain of dishes to wash, floors to sweep and tables to clean before he could head home. Hopefully the girls would still be awake and he could spend some time with them.

  He’d check in the morning, and if there was still no reply to his letter to Elizabeth Miller, he didn’t know what he’d do.

  ***

  It was still early the next morning when John headed down the main street to the mercantile. Sapphire Springs didn’t have a regular post office yet, just a small counter in the back of the store where the stage dropped off the mail.

  “Morning, Hank,” he said when he went inside. Hank Fenton looked up from the pile of letters and packages on the counter in front of him and returned the greeting.

  “Any mail for me?” John asked.

  Hank turned his back on John and plucked out a letter from one of the slots on the wall. “Here you are,” he said, handing the letter to John. “It’s from Boston. You have kin back east?”

  John shook his head. The only person in town who knew he’d sent for a mail-order bride was Pete. He sure wasn’t about to share the information with anybody before he’d even told his aunt. The last thing he needed was for her to find out through the gossips in town before he even knew if there was a woman out there who was willing to come to Texas and marry him.

  “Thanks.” Tucking the letter into his pocket, he said goodbye to Hank and left the store. Already, it promised to be another scorching day, which meant the diner would be busy and he’d be run off his feet until after sundown.

  He hurried down the street to the diner and unlocked the door. He should get started preparing the meals while it was still relatively cool inside, but he knew he couldn’t stand to leave the letter unopened until that night.

  He went inside and wove his way between the tables until he got to the kitchen, then took the envelope out of his pocket and sat down at the scarred oak table. For a few seconds, he stared at the flowing handwriting on the envelope before he opened it and took out the single sheet of paper inside.

  The guilt inside him stopped his lips from lifting in
a smile as he read the words. Miranda Lowe had agreed to marry him. Marrying a stranger was a gamble. He knew that, and he wasn’t a gambling man. But he also knew he had to do something to try to give his girls a happy childhood, and as much as he loved his aunt, the girls would never be the smiling little girls he remembered while they were in her care.

  Aunt Ruth might have raised eight of her own children, but from what he’d heard about them, none of them were what he’d call successful or happy.

  So even though Miranda Lowe might not be the perfect mother, he was willing to take the chance that the girls would be happier with her. A sense of relief and anticipation filled him.

  He looked up and spoke into the silence. “Nancy, honey, I got a letter today from a woman who’s going to come here to be my wife and be a mama to the girls. I don’t want to marry again, but the girls need a mother who’ll love them, and I know you’d want them to grow up happy.”

  He paused, as if he expected Nancy to give him her blessing. “Her name’s Miranda, and she sounds like a good woman. I’m going to send her a train ticket in the morning. It’s the right thing to do, but wherever you are, I hope you know I’ll always love you. That will never change.”

  Now all he had to do was tell his girls and Aunt Ruth.

  ***

  Miranda breathed in the honeysuckle perfume and the heady scent of roses as she strolled through Elizabeth’s garden. It had been almost three weeks since she’d sent her letter to John and she was impatient. She couldn’t take advantage of Elizabeth’s hospitality indefinitely, and even though she wasn’t paying her full share, her savings were dwindling, especially after the cost of Beth’s funeral.

  Every morning, she scoured the newspaper, looking for a position as a chambermaid or even a cook’s helper, but hadn’t found anything suitable. If she didn’t hear back from Mr. Weaver within the next few days, she’d have to assume he didn’t want her. Then she’d have to find somewhere else to live, and some way to support herself. There was only one way she knew of, and she knew she’d rather starve.